Chapter 14
"Do you really believe this is a geninue threat?" Asked Jarl Balgruuf.
The Dragonborn wasted no time in seeking audience with the Jarl. Within the early hours of the morning, she had steeled herself, knowing full well that this indeed was going to big problem, and a rather tough issue to tackle. She stood before him, his housecarl Irileth staring down at her with her piercing Dunmer eyes, her position so firm yet arrogant. The lack of trust between her and the Dragonborn was notable, cementing their relationship when she displayed a lack of interest in the Dragonborns supposed and witnessed ability to absorb souls. Not that the Dragonborn herself cared as such.
The Jarl sat on his throne, slouching, leaning on one armrest and rubbing his fingers as he listened to the Thanes tale of search, rescue and the odd tasks that they called testing.
She worded out most of the time she was there, but was very careful around, and tiptoed about the parts where she was a Werewolf. It wouldn't be much for Irileth to bring out her blade and instantly stab the Dragonborn in the chest, screaming, 'I told you so' to her Jarl due to careless wording. But at least she could confirm a possible lead to the kidnapping across the province and a partial prognosis on what could happen next.
"My Jarl, this threat is as real as it gets. This...GLaDOS as she calls herself, controls the entire underground lair."
A kind of magic more like it. It was like an extension of her body, having complete authority on this Dwemer like construct, except they could honestly say it was definitely not Dwemer. The architecture was all wrong. And less complicated. Who would have thought that the sight of dead black and white would be so...powerful. Every colour so plain and simple, that it was like a realm of a Daedra. And Silver...shiny silver claws. Hundreds of them, pouring out with blue magic eyes where they shouldn't be. She wasn't worried about them. It was the little red orbs attached to the walls that were horrific. Beading, stronger than the glinting jewels of Dragons.
She had been so constricted, tormented but unbroken. Her will pulled her through the worst, the electric shocks doing little to spurn her towards certain, uncontrollable insanity. Her thoughts were pure anger and rage, a strong hunger to slice heads off, making them roll down the very steps they tread. The recollections of being tied up were more than a just a sore memory, but she remembered the burning sensation in her heart everytime they poked her, proded her, burned her skin with silver. She would scream into the rope that had been pulled across her mouth. But they were only screams of frustration, not pain.
The scars would linger, sitting on her bed the night before, examining the healed over wounds near her clavicle and the one on her lower torso. She bit her lip, before heading off to the designed bathroom Doug had made previously. She looked at herself in the mirror, examining the bags underneath her eyes and touch the lines on her skin, wincing slightly. She turned around to examine the burns between her shoulder blades, shaped like a simple tree. She grimaced at her, before shaking the feeling off. She would get over it in time, like a good warrior that proudly shows off their war wounds. But this...this she couldn't explain. She looked down at her knee, almost forgetting that she'd been cut near it by a rogue Draugr. It was almost non-existent, thanks to Doug's quick work.
So she had told the Jarl what he needed to hear, from beginning, to end, cutting out the obvious parts and shaped the story well without it. He listened intently, quietly nodding as she spoke. She'd used such gruesome descriptions of the events that occurred, woven like a bards tale. Well, not as a good as a trained bard but somewhere near it.
They heard the front doors open then slam shut, with the Dragonborn turning around to see who it was.
"Sorry I'm late." Said Doug. He was back to his usual peasant white shirt and brown pants with suspenders. The Dragonborn couldn't quite work out what he was doing here, but knew he would have to have something useful to say at least. The Jarl lifted his head, curious to the mans prescence as he walked down the middle of Dragonsreach and up the stairs to stand next to the Dragonborn.
"My Thane has told me the whole story." Said Balgruuf.
Doug shook his his head. The Dragonborn noticed something different about him. He didn't look cowardly or frail, but rather confident in himself for once.
"Not all of it." Doug replied.
Balgruuf clasped his fingers together with a questioned look. "Then tell me."
Doug nodded, placing his hand to his chest. "What she may have said is true. All of it. We...have a history together."
Balgruuf leered with a bit of confused expression. "What do you mean?" He asked accusingly.
Doug cleared his throat. He explained how, many years ago, she was made from the minds of some of the worlds greatest scientists. It was supposed to be a pinnacle of technology, according to Doug's coworkers. However, she had gone on a killing spree and murdered everyone...except himself...and one other.
"I managed to survive long enough to find someone to put her down once and for all. And...it worked. For a while at least."
The Jarl contemplated, exchanging expressions with the Dragonborn, having a wordless conversation about Doug's story.
"So she is a Daedra?" Balgruuf questioned.
Doug scratched his chin. "Definitely not. I witnessed her construction."
Balgruuf furrowed his brow. "You allowed this monstrosity to be made?"
The Dragonborn stepped in, much to Doug's surprise.
"It wouldn't have been his decision to do so. I doubt Doug's the type of guy that would set a rampaging...uh...Doug what would you call her anyway?"
Doug blinked, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know if you would understand the term; Artificial Intelligence?"
The Jarl pouted. "No...never heard of it. Word it to me."
Doug nodded. It was going to be hard to explain in the simplest of words to someone who was used to the old, primitive technologies.
"Well...basically, it's not human, it's not a Daedra, or a God...or an Elf. It's not a living creature persay. It doesn't need to breath, eat or sleep. It only needs a power source strong enough to allow it to function properly."
The Dragonborn looked between the pair. "So we cut it's power source?" She theorized.
Doug sighed. "It's not that easy. We don't even know what her power source is. I mean, where I come from, it's generated from nuclear reactors. Here...I can't say. She's either somehow obtained nuclear energy or she's found another source."
The Dragonborn grumbled. "Ahhhhh seriously. This is going to be so frustrating..."
The Jarl looked at him again. "You mentioned someone who had put her down once before. Did you know how they did it?" He wondered.
Doug licked his lips, becoming his original nervous wreck self. "I uh...they. I wasn't actually there to witness it. I heard an explosion, and that was it."
The Dragonborn turned to the Jarl. "Enough firepower?" She pictured.
Balgruuf massaged his forehead. "I don't know enough of this kind of magic. Maybe ask Farengar to help you."
Doug shook his head. "This technology would be highly resistant against magic. She had the ability to suppress the magicka flow in the air. But there is one weapon highly capable of handling the situation quite well."
The Dragonborn caught his eye. It was like he was expecting her to know what he was talking about, when in fact, she didn't. He was a smart man, she could give him that, but how in Nirn could he expect her to know what he was talking about unless it was...
The doors flapped open, with a wailing robot running down the middle of Dragonsreach, arms flailing about and sound processors blaring with his screams. He ran to Doug, rudely interrupting their discussion as he stood in front of Doug and jumped in front of him.
"Doug! Doug! QUICK!" He yelled.
Doug motioned Wheatley to calm down. "Woah, slow down there. What's the problem?"
Wheatley tried to settle down, his jitters making him quite the flustered bot. He fumbled with his hands and pretended to breath. "Okay, slowing down, calming down...hold on...I'll get my thoughts straight."
Doug raised an eyebrow. "Yes yes...what's the emergency?"
Wheatley rolled his optic. "Okay, well, so err...I was, doing as you say, staying in the house...not touching anything in the house, well maybe except the table and couch, when I heard a very strange noise. It was...strange, yet, familiar. I've definitely heard it before and I'm recalling it's not...it's not a very good noise."
Doug face-palmed. Either Wheatley did something stupid again, or he was being serious about something. The Jarl and the Dragonborn traded confused glances, having no idea what was going on. The guards, including Irileth, had their swords drawn, when the Jarl gave them the sign to put them away.
"It was like, it was like a roaring sound. Very loud, very hostile. Then I heard wings flap. It got closer and closer. Then I determined what it was when I saw it. The thing is, you've gotta deal with it! It's going to set houses on fire!"
The Dragonborn grumbled. "So a Dragon?"
Wheatley nodded erratically. "Yes yes! A Dragon. So...will you deal with it?"
The Dragonborn looked at everyone equally with a stone cold face. She sighed and lowered her head down, as if disappointed as she shook her head. She brought out her sword and swung it around in her abrasive style. The Jarl looked panicked, but his Thane was far from it. They confirmed Wheatley's reports as a large roar echoed throughout Dragonsreach.
"Yeah yeah...hang on. Be right back."
Doug fidgeted with his fingers as they stood there, waiting. The silence was awkward enough. It gave Doug time to think...
He wondered if he should tell the Dragonborn about this...this power that was gained. He couldn't fathom the fact on how and when he received it. He tried again that morning on parts he'd recovered from Mistwatch. After turning on the beast restraints, there were bits and pieces lying about, like an old broken computer. He couldn't simply carry the whole thing, so he quickly broke it down into smaller parts and put them in his pouch. There was a plan to make a new shell for it, but at first he had attempted to try and put it together.
It was taking longer than expected. But he had only slept until sunrise, then began working it, attaching the motherboard to the hard drive, and the other cards needed to make it function. He couldn't obtain the monitor, so he hoped when this reconstruction was finished, he could work on these so called abilities. He used the gauntlets to help with this and made sure there was rubber underneath it as he was prodding, turning and welding. Wheatley was still shut down before Doug had left for Dragonsreach.
His stomach churned on whether it was such a good idea telling the Jarl about his connections with the Woman from Down Below. He watched has he rubbed his beard, casually chatting to Irileth. But it was the best thing they had. His knowledge coupled with their strength leveled the playing field lightly, if she didn't release the neurotoxin first. But she wouldn't be able to do that on the surface? Will she?
The whole ordeal was odd. Allying with the Silver-Hand was one. Kidnapping...not as out of the ordinary as you would think. She would definitely need a load of test subjects for her own addicted amusement. Werewolves...he wasn't entirely sure about. It would have been done in the fields of the Silver-Hands prejudice so that would make more sense. Her plan though, her motive...so far was unknown.
The doors whacked open, with the Dragonborn casually walking back to the Jarls throne, rubbing her nose. Doug looked at her with concerned eyes and checked for blood or wounds. If anything she'd sheathed her sword on the way up, her stride of bellowing confidence, but overshadowed by her complete and utter apathetic approach, the way her mouth was in a thin line, her eyelids half-cast and posture straight but not proud.
"Can we continue?" He queried as the Dragonborn stood next to Doug with her arms across
She sniffed, when suddenly a rush of golden glowing wisps gushed right through the doors and began circling her in a gust of brimming magical winds, ensuring sparkle noises and only moving the Dragonborns hair, who was continuing to be indifferent. She blew a piece of hair out of her face.
"So who do you believe can take down this creature?" Balgruuf asked.
Doug brushed his fingers through his messy mop. "She's around. I know it. She was with us during the time down there. I'm sure the Dragonborn would have mentioned her."
Her head spun to him. "That woman with that thing that makes odd circles in the ground?"
The Jarl thumbed his lip. "She with this...magical device."
"It's a Portal device." Doug corrected.
Balgruuf shrugged. "I don't care. This...Portalborn woman. Find her."
The Dragonborn huffed. "So little faith in the actual Dragonborn..." She berated. "What makes you think I can't do this by myself?"
Balgruuf brushed her off. "Nothing in the tablets predicted this. The return of the Dragons was worse enough. We need all the help we can get."
There was something that ticked off the Dragonborn. She was her own true woman, brimming with skill and brutality that couldn't be matched. Storming away from Dragonsreach, there was a near stunning disbelief that the Jarl couldn't depend on her alone. That suddenly she needed assistance from what she could now clarify as the same person who had stolen her kill on the elk AND the bandit at Helgen. That unique, smug scent that followed her, catching her nose as soon as she made herself known when they saved Farkas. She infuriated the Dragonborn, her very image boiling in her blood.
She looked out to the lower plains of Whiterun, unable to control her anger. She could prove the Jarl wrong by taking the monsteress out herself, find her in what ever realm she may be in and pull her heart and show it to her. She grasped on the wooden railings on the walkway in front of Dragonsreach, leaning over it as she stared at the water beneath her. Gritting her teeth, she almost pulled her dagger out as she heard footsteps come up behind her. She stopped by Doug's neck, who stepped back and raised his hands up in quick surrender. She squinted in annoyance, then whipped her head around, putting the dagger away, putting both arms on the rail.
Doug could tell she was tense. The way her shoulders were hunched, her fingers digging into her arms and the scowl on her face. He guessed she expected to do it alone. The Jarl was wise to advise it, even though, pun unintended, the Dragonborn was a lone wolf. But her words to him, when they had battled the Giants at the Sleeping Tree, had regarded her desire to have someone with her. He wracked his head for answers, concluding that her mind changed like the days changed. What ever she felt like having she could feel she could have it.
He stood next to her, watching as the bones of the recently deceased Dragon were being dissembled and taken away. Several of the local kids had picked up the skull and played around it, trying and failing to put it on top of their heads. He watched the side of her mouth rise, surprisingly amused at their antics. She caught his eye and lowered her lips to another scowl, forcing Doug to drag his eyes away.
"Her name is Chell." He said.
She didn't reply. The two worked well together with little hesitance, with wordless cues and lots and lots jumping...and maiming. No matter how gruesome it was. Doug swallowed his pride as he admitted to himself that it was a spectacular sight. It'd actually been the first time he'd properly seen Chell in action and had culled the negative thoughts that surrounded his own personal belief, based sorely on her personality.
Both were very similar. A stubbornness that rivaled. The Dragonborn was aggravated by the notion of Chell being her equal. Her and that stupid device of hers, always dependent on it. For the Dragonborn herself, she only used magic when she needed to, displaying her blade in and out of battle to anyway to see the ferocity she played at.
Oh and her beast abilities when things get particularly nasty...
She grunted.
"Thieves Guild." She muttered out.
Doug looked at her. "Thieves Guild?" He replied, confused.
"Her clothes. Thieves Guild. Riften."
She was noticeably distracted. She'd spoken like this before, sputtering out one worded sentences to remove subletly. But it was very rare. And only when she was in a strange type of distraction.
"So you think she'll be there? Hanging out there I mean?" Doug questioned.
She straightened up as she stood straight. "That's where they all hang out. She won't be going very far."
Doug couldn't conjure the image of Chell being a thief. Then again, her original profile was heavily censored, even her last name. But for now she was the queen of escapees.
"So you're going to go see if you can recruit her then?"
She snuffed. "Hah. I don't understand why he wants her to help us? I want to see her in proper battle and not with some novelty piece of magic."
She rubbed her eyes, her face retching in some unseen pain. The bags underneath her eyes had gotten worse. She wasn't sleeping still. After all this time. After the the hard battle they had fought with GLaDOS and the Silver-Hand, she had utterly refused to rest. It explained her irritated culture, her movements lagging and sluggish. He was amazed at the way her yawning was restricted. The only give away was her eyes. The rest of the body was developing it too, but she wasn't letting it slow her down.
"Doug..." She said with burden.
"Would you think of me differently if I suddenly agreed to work with her?"
Doug blinked. "Uh...n-no...I mean...uh what?"
She glared at him briefly, swatting her hand. "Ah forget about it. Just...do it what ever it is you do a-"
Doug shook his head in a spout of flowing diligence and grabbed her hand, knowing full well she could stab him without a second thought. His fears were temporarily discarded in favor of genuine concern. Her eyes already did half the amount of stabbing. This was worse than he thought. She was bleeding underneath her chin, with dirt patches behind her hair towards her ears. She was left worse off than when he left the night before. She'd left Whiterun, again. She avoided his gaze after realizing he wasn't going to let go of her, violently pulling her hand away from him.
"You left Whiterun as soon as you got home didn't you?" He asked.
"No wonder you didn't see the Jarl straight away. You told Lydia to tell me you were sleeping."
The Dragonborn growled. "My business is none of your concern. What I do with my time is my own. Besides, since you're basically the Jarls pet mage now I thought you would have already told him."
"No." He responded, his voice low. "I was waiting for your report so we could both go in at the same time to allow us to facilitate what just went on down there. What we saw was nothing like anybody else had seen."
Her nose twitched. "Are you serious? I did it just perfectly, just then. Before you and your metal ball barged in. I know what you have done Milkdrinker...somewhere in your continent it's completely fine to admit..well, you know what, but here...no...just no..."
Yup. She was just knackered. Badly. Her voice was becoming hoarse. She wasn't angry, just jaded and had pushed herself way too hard these past few days.
He lingered on. "I wasn't going to talk about that. Your people don't take too kindly to...beasts."
She grumbled. "You make it sound worse than it is. I don't want you talking to anybody on these matters. I am the Thane of this hold. You have no say in what goes on here."
He crossed his arms and rose an eyebrow. "Even when there's something terrible going on?"
She threw her fists about, throwing her usual tantrum. "Just...just..."
Doug watched her with close eyes as she tried to calm herself down. Rage was the only way she could get her point across. She had it so well with the Jarl that she never needed to raise her voice. It became a thoroughness that she had enjoyed throughout her role in the hold. She would eagerly investigate or hunt something down in the name of glory, since her role as Harbinger garnered her respect. The world was theirs to protect and cherish in the name of the Aedra that so giftedly created them. Somewhere along the line, that goal had been twisted.
She was nothing more than a spoiled brat, when it came to it. She'd taken so much from the position she held, which she would give just as much back. But her attitude towards was extremely immature. He wondered what would have happened if none of this would have happened? And she would have just wandered Skyrim in search of the destiny foretold of her famous title?
The Dragonborn dug her fingers into her skull and bit her lip. He walked over and tried to comfort her, only to get a dagger inches from his face. She panted and grunted as her face scrunched in twisted aberrations. He stood back slightly.
"You should have a lie down." He suggested.
She supported herself with a nearby beam and caught her breath.
"No...there's more work to be done. I've gotta get stronger. I..."
"Excuse me..."
The Dragonborn froze as she stared at the courier. She balanced herself back to normal, as if nothing ever happened. The courier gave her a letter, not saying who it was from, but he said it was quite urgent. She shrugged and let the man go as she opened the letter and skimmed through it.
"Ahh perfect." She said, smirking.
"What is it?" Doug asked, curious.
She gave the man a sinister sneer. "You'll see. Pack your things. You me and the ball thing are coming with me..."
She was a perplexing woman. She underwent a cycle of calm, angry and happiness constantly, her mood swings more like a game of rock, paper scissors with herself. He often forgot himself around people like this. Not that it mattered to him. Wheatley would press his own worries on the man, in the cores special way of course.
The Dragonborn failed to say what they were doing and where abouts they were heading. She was certainly in a rousing mood for adventure. The way she was reported things inflicted her emotions to unusual sprouts. She had this uncanny grin on her face. Doug was in the process of imprinting his expectations and so far, she was still being unpredictable. That aside, he had his arms wrapped around her, with Wheatley strapped to his back, embarking on a journal with an unlikely look.
She rode Kodlak down south, where it was slightly warmer and trotted through the center of peaceful Riverwood. Few of the people there waved to the Dragonborn, the woman herself smiling politely and responded in kind. It wasn't as large as Whiterun, but it looked homely enough by the nearby river. Wheatley received a few strange glances but otherwise he wasn't too worried about it, sitting backwards on the horse while reading another book to help make the trip go faster.
Once out of Riverwood they kept trailing, trotting down the stonepath to places unknown, a pool of uncertainty welling around in his stomach. He was wearing his dark blue mage robes and the gauntlet boot combination that the Dragonborn insisted he'd wear. In that cultivation, he was still fragile beneath and he hoped where ever she was taking them wasn't too dangerous or far out of his sanity range. But his gut knew better. For all he knew it was part of another test to make him her follower of sorts. But his general reaction and sudden unexpected questioning forced her to quickly rethink. Was she trying again?
But he couldn't understand why she had gotten so offended over it. The prospect of family made her quick to anger, undergoing strenuous fits of rage like she was losing in battle. Doug shifted those thoughts elsewhere and unto the road ahead.
They'd come across a cave indented into the side of a mountain. Wind hollowed inside as they got off Kodlak and strode inside the entrance. He retreated to hunch, deciding whether or not heading in as well was such a good idea. Wheatley followed the Dragonborn without fear or hesitation.
"So what we lookin' for love?" He asked.
The cave was dark and deep as she shoved him in front of her, much to the walking cores surprise.
"Need your light Wheats." She said straightforward.
Wheatley adjusted his form, his body language screaming proud as he effortlessly flicked his optic flashlight on.
"Here you go my lady. Anything for the majestic Dragon slayer! Ahaha!"
Doug rolled his eyes as he trailed behind the suddenly matching pair. He felt that when Farkas lent him his greatsword Wheatley thought himself a daring hero. He let the core have his moment, since it distracted him from his other quaint unmonitored internal transmissions. To be honest with himself, it was great to see him fearless, but honestly, he was in fact, still a coward inside. If anything Wheatley being brave wasn't new. He was a moron yes, but Doug still etched the premise of "Ignorance is Bliss." into his sketchbooks, even becoming envious at times.
Though it wasn't before long that Wheatley cowered away behind walls and corners as they'd come across Draugr crypts, the vile zombies skeleton things forcing him to flee. The Dragonborn made quick graceful work with her sword, with satisfying slashes. For some reason, her ferocious grunting was doing weird things with Doug's heart. He casually waited, putting the abnormality aside until each Draugr had been laid to waste.
They'd gone from crypt to crypt, smiting anything that came in their direction. She was more awake than she had ever been, the smile on her face almost wild and untamed. She locked eyes with Doug for a moment, a twinge in the center of his body making him bite his lip in the attempt to not make an embarrassed and nerved grin. It was like she was making him feel comfortable around the heat of it, then less than stellar attempts of the Draugr mindlessly on the offensive and the occasional walking skeleton, which Wheatley believed was utterly ridiculous, since they didn't have a proper power source to be able to even walk. Magic based, obviously.
But it was working on Doug. Even in the depths of this decrypt, dark, murky, cold and humid cave, he wasn't bending to it, it was actually bending to him the curvacious appeal alluring. It again, held the yin to Apertures Yang, the stark differences very blatant. After spending year upon in the shadowly corrupt lie they called a facility, this was truth. They didn't have to hide behind ignorant premises and please a boss. No. Here you could live a life the well you felt appropriate. You were only restricted by a weakened heart and spirit.
He was sure he was having this heart-to-heart internal conversation with himself once before. The honest part was rising to the surface, evolving to a lateral stage in the cycle he called disbelief and acceptance. Wheatley on the other hand was just a core. Expressive yes, but he was very dependent on Doug on survival. Doug worried that when ever he left Gildekin Wheatley would constantly reassure himself that he was going to be okay. The scary part was that he was. And wasn't. There were some inconsistencies with his programming that convinced Doug that eventually he would have to examine his interior to check his hardware. He just didn't have the time to do it.
More long, dim corridors, more Draugr. More broken bodies left on the floor and etched scars on the Dragonborns blade. Some were powerful enough to possess shouts like the Dragonborn, who used her stronger abilities to repel them. A Draugr Deathlord, so to speak, made it's presence known with a huge scream and hurled the Force Shout in it's wicked undeath tongue towards the Dragonborn, who rolled out of the way and sneered at it. They were getting towards the end of the cave, where it held large black runed double doors behind the large set of coffins, to which the most decorated had been holding the Deathlord itself, wielding a rusty sword and baring a horned helmet on it's cranium, signifying it's status from within. Towards the right corner was a curved ruin, with a n usual type of text scrawled on it. He'd seen it before in one of the books about the Dragonborn. The language of Dragons, he finally recalled.
The Dragonborn decapitated the Deathlord with one final slice, stomping and crushing it's skull underneath her iron heel. She took a deep breath once it was completely motionless, then walked up the steps to the ruin itself. He heard noises, like tribal cries and drums coming from it's direction. Some of the Dragon text had blue light pouring through the lines. He examined with intent as she stood in front of it, comparing the glow that was now whisking towards her and surrounding her with the surreal beauty of absorbing a Dragon's soul. It whirled up a breeze for a moment, then subsided quickly.
She walked down the steps slowly, her feet dropping and clanking as she walked. More signs of fatigue.
"Are you okay?" He asked.
She smiled at him with smugness and gave thumbs up. "Never been better. Just need to test out this shout."
She cautioned both him and Wheatley to stand away from her, while she stood there, looking like she was sorting herself out with her eye rapidly moving from underneath her lids. She reopened them, roaring out something that became quite alluring. It was loud, the architecture of the cave perfectly accentuating the rolling waves of her purity of sound. It jolted through his bones but it didn't hurt. He suddenly found himself to be quite relaxed.
He wore a dopey smile on his face and looked at the Dragonborn, who held herself on with sheer pride and laughed with unrestrained glee. She turned to see Doug, swinging her sword out in circles three times then sheathing it. He shook his head as he stared at her.
"Wow...that was amazing. I mean, wow...what was that just happened? What you did? You absorbed a Dragon soul? Didn't you? Was there a Dragon soul in the wall?" Wheatley interrupted.
Despite Wheatley's knowledge of the entire story growing by his hefty skimming of books, Doug believed that his theory was unlikely to be the case.
She shrugged. "No...it was a word wall." She explained. "I absorb Dragon souls to power the words. One soul for each word in the shout."
Doug nodded. It certainly was intriguing to hear about it though. And like before, she'd cut right to the chase.
"Oh that's...kind of puzzle magic I would love to solve. I mean, if Test subjects had that who knows what kind of results we could have expected." Wheatley continued.
"Yeah...and the amount of deaths rising on the census graph." Doug said sarcastically. He could swear he heard the Dragonborn snicker.
"So did you like this little exercise?" She asked him, her body position shifting.
He looked off put by that particular question. "What?" He responded.
She was closer than what he could call a small invasion of private space, the look in her eyes a bit audacious.
"I know you're an educated man. And one thing I know what educated want. More knowledge."
Doug browed at her, then lowered his eyelids in a fraction of spite.
"So risking our lives to help you gain power was also a way to teach us? How will this help down the track? I mean, for us. I know what you want, but how would this help defeat Her?"
The Dragonborn swirled away, paying attention to the treasure chest nearby.
"Do you remember me telling you that I was going to take you to High Hrothgar one day?"
Doug looked aside. It was fuzzy but it was there. Upon his research, a gathering of old men known as the Greybeards lived up there in quiet, cold seclusion.
"Kinda." He replied, before rubbing the back of his neck. "You planning on a trip up there any time soon?"
She crossed her arms and looked away. "Maybe. I was going to take you up there...I dunno...it was a stupid thought at the time. I only wanted to show you the sights."
Doug was confused. He could hear the unsureness and the lack of decisiveness in her tone.
This wasn't the time for that. They needed to take down GLaDOS. Going up to see some old men wasn't going to help anybody,
"Another time." He said. "Right now, we should be heeding to the Jarls suggestion and bring Chell in."
She grumbled and grunted, putting some of the hidden treasures into her pouches. He figured she really didn't want to go Riften, as the Dragonborn said she was most likely hiding due to her supposed stance with the Thieves Guild. She flicked her hair of her face and stared at Doug.
"Fine be like that. Don't take my offer. In fact, don't take any offers of mine. Ever."
Doug narrowed his eyelids at her faux Reverse psychology. She wasn't being serious. He saw through her charade and declared that she simply didn't want to return to Riften for some reason. She walked to Wheatley and snatched his hand.
"Come on you, we're leaving!"
Doug remembered, as a child, making excuses to avoid school, to avoid being bullied for his uncommon eye condition. The taunting, the bullying. It made him sick to the stomach and several attempts to change the colour. Back in the days of childish innocence, it culminated in the last few years of his teenage life, even when, that the lies that churned from his lips to prevent probably harassment at parties with people he didn't even like. It was the life of a battling problems, seeing things, hearing voices. An illness that festered for most of his life, with only a single light to the fuse to blow all sanity up.
He stayed silent for most of the trip back, with the Dragonborn allowing Wheatley to ride in front, babbling on about the the Dragonborns glorious ways that she killed the disgusting zombie things. She listened as he went on and on, while Doug gathered his thoughts and held an utmost desire to start drawing again.
They made it back in piece, saying their brief goodbyes before retreating to their homes. Wheatley was pleased with himself, claiming that all their hard work paid off in that tiny adventure. He was especially proud with the fact he didn't run away. In reality the Dragonborn was just skilled enough to not let the Draugr go anywhere near them.
He sat on the couch with his head back. He had work to do, more devices to tinker with and to work with the Jarls court to help butter up Whiteruns defenses. Surely the last dragon attack could have given them further ideas to make them even better. Wheatley's suggestion of turrets brought fear in Doug. Wheatley had retracted his statement in such a hurry then decided that modified staffs that shoot lasers would be the perfect weapon.
While amusing and good in theory, to put into practice would be a nightmare. He'd have to go back and steal more tech from Her, knowing that She used them quite often. The sheer amount of power that could work against anything, even Dragons...it was pretty funny to imagine. He scribbled them down for future reference and for his own outlet, drawing the Word Wall and the visage of absorbing knowledge.
She had some truth what the Dragonborn had said. About those with great minds, working together like a million synapses, the power of books and words that lay deep with power and persuasion. No...not persuasion, knowledge. As much as what he and the other scientists strove for such a perfect reward, there were other drives in life besides it. He believed that's what separated him from many others. There wasn't an ultimate obsession for the concept, overruling common sense and superseding logic all for the gain.
What was he doing here still?
There was no true outer life for Doug. Aperture was where ever it was. No work, no truth in his exodus. Again, it was a topic that came up in the weak hours of the night, where the creative part of his brain worked best. He'd made work up along as he went, like all he did was transfer to another location, or a promotion. In any case, the Dragonborn certainly wasn't making his life any easier.
He was working on one the favored devices, the toaster. For what ever reason, they became really popular in Whiterun. Changing the lifestyle of a primitive society wasn't his best intention, it was just something he couldn't help but do to make life easier for them. And for himself. For someone who was used to the luxuries of the common man, here it was more like for the rich and regal. Along with the Scientists primary institution, there was constructive benefits. He couldn't help himself really. His fingers hardly stopped, even in his sleep. For him to halt such dexterity, it would be like heart failure. He simply couldn't work with out it.
His thoughts and works were distracted by Wheatley coming back home. He claimed to have been walking around the city, talking with random strangers and playing chasy with the kids.
"Ah Doug you should have seen me. The kids! Those kids love me!" He said proudly.
Wouldn't surprise Doug. Even for underexposure to the space age and technology in general, kids would always have a soft spot for talking robots.
"We played hide and seek. Which was brilliant, since I was the best hider. Took them ten minutes to find me. I was just hiding behind the cow across the road. I normally don't like children. Smellier than than human adults. They have beautiful imaginations though. Kinda reminded me of you."
Doug couldn't help but smile. At least Wheatley would never change...
The day had ended with a few decent sales and finished commissions. The original hustle and bustle of the markets finished on a light note, with nothing really notable to distribute. Wheatley shut down for the evening, leaving Doug alone once more.
He sat out the balcony outside of his room and looked at High Hrothgar. The night had the cold bite, but otherwise it was peaceful, with a bright light perched above him, allowing him to read another adventure genre book, this one about the travels of Cyrodiil and partial mentions of love triangles and betrayal. He was relaxed, unstressed, but unable to keep to keep his mind off the Dragonborn. Every little detail fixated on her for irritating reasons.
During the afternoon he'd taken the toaster to his customer and made the sale for a pretty septim, and saw the Dragonborn in her scheduled stroll with Farkas. The few nitpicky observations he made when he laid eyes on her was that her shoulders weren't tense and that smile was genuinely a smile. Not a hint of snark in it. They were both flirty, setting up an intense storm that flurried in Doug's stomach. He winced at it, pressing his hand against his chest and pursued ignorance to fight it off.
If it weren't for Wheatley busting in to ill coordinate his words he would have stood there the entire time, a standing hatred for the buff dark man. Shaking his head, he flung himself into his work and talked with the core.
He knew the Dragonborn was trying to get him to work the way she wanted him to. To be able to be competent and actually useful in battle. She was persistent with the nagging idea and flogged him to death with it. So arrogant, so bitchy, so stubborn, so loud and proud and messy and...there were dozens of reasons for him to hate her. But his own feelings never listened to him.
He accidentally snapped his pencil thinking about. He dropped it and pulled out another one. But before he could do so, he felt his collar being lifted up by a strong force and pushed against the wall. There was a hooded woman, wearing tight black and red clothing. More of her face was covered by cloth, so he couldn't actually detail it. She glared him with a fieriness as he gulped. He was about to open his mouth, until she covered it with her hand.
"Relax...I'm not going to kill you." She said. Her voice was stern, confident but not arrogant, ironically having a calm effect as it should have.
"I'm only giving you a fair word of warning, which is not usually my families forte, since you obviously should know who I am."
She didn't say it with smugness, in fact, her personality was just as masked as her face. He tried his best not to show fear, but in fact he was terrified.
"If this is about the showers I'm aware there have been a few accidents and I was going to fix them as soon as-"
She tightened her grip around his lips with her fingers.
"This isn't about you." She said. He blinked.
"This is about your precious Dragonborn...she should have gotten a letter and it seems she is taking the extra precautions to...protect herself from us."
He furrowed his brow. "Wait what? I don't even know what you're talking about..."
She narrowed her eyes. "Say Capitoline, she will understand what this means. If not, then I'm afraid she has a very dark road ahead of her."
She let go of him and before he knew, she'd jumped off the balcony and disappeared in an instant. Doug fled inside and locked all the doors before sitting on the couch by the fire. This was far too convoluted for the Dragonborn to handle. First GLaDOS, now this? He really had to speak to her. Now.
He knocked her door frantically. This wasn't going to be some game anymore. Her life was at stake.
Not that he didn't believe she could handle herself, but she had treaded some path, gone over some line at some stage that he wasn't aware of. He licked his lips and tried re-catching his breath. Why he was so worried didn't matter. The door flung open, with her standing there, eyelids half drawn and a glass of ale in her hand. She sipped it, then burped into his face, the evidence of her session very clear. She could see the stress in his face and turned around, leaving the door for him to enter.
He came in and closed it himself, fumbling and fidgeting with his hands as usual. She sat down on the chair and crossed one leg with another. She leered at him with drunken, broken eyes and sculled down her drink. She lifted it up to him.
"Want one?" She asked. Her voice was hazy and coarse.
He shook his head. "N-no. I uh...I'm fine thank you."
She shrugged. "What do you want?"
He just couldn't walk around the park with this. He needed to be straight forward with her.
"I just had a visitor." He said. Good. He was being blunt. Not that she cared much for it. Wheatley always had trouble with straight answers.
"Wow...would you like a medal?" She said sarcastically.
"She told me, to tell you that they're aware of what you've done and that you may or may not have read their letter they had sent to you."
She rose an eyebrow, then thought briefly for a moment.
"Ehhh...yeah what ever. Don't care."
He swallowed. "And she also told me to tell you about something called Capitoline...and said that it would mean something to you."
She slammed the glass on top the table, causing Doug to hiss. "Capitoline..." She muttered, her eyes widened, but still slacking.
Doug riddled her form for clues. It had hit something, definitely. But what it was had been unclear.
She slouched in her chair further, her eyelids begging to just be let go and to sleep. She grasped tighter onto the armrests and pushed herself upwards.
"Doug..." She said softly.
His heart skipped a bit. "Yes?" He responded, a bit too eagerly.
"What do you know about me?"
He licked his lips and rustled his fingers through his hair. He didn't know much other than what she told him. An admission perhaps?
She sighed, then quickly retracted her question as fast as she asked it.
"Never mind...it's not...it's not important."
She was severely depressed, that was for sure. But this had opened her eyes slightly.
"What is important is that I need you."
He did a double check. "What?"
She refilled her drink and sculled that one down too.
"You are not like other men. Most people hold the desire to fight and brawl and find glory in battle. You on the other hand, are content to heal the land without any bloodshed. Like the Battle-Born but...more sweet and tender. I am nothing but a symbol for destruction. You are more than the badge of a simple healer and one who intends for reconstruction for Skyrim as a whole. And this isn't even your homeland. Where ever you have come from, you have been reseeded in Skyrim for a reason, a destiny unforetold. And for that, I thank you."
Doug was dumbstruck. Praise from the Dragonborn. He wasn't sure if this was the ale talking or it was brought on from a subconscious belief. Then a pit of fear drilled right through him. What she about to do something stupid again? He wanted to take that as a compliment, he really did. But he was clouded with much doubt.
"I'm not one to believe in destiny myself. I have asked the same question over and over. What does it mean to be Dragonborn? I have been told many things from many wise people province over. The Greybears, the Jarl...and yet, each is different and it's the wide open circle of options that have been given to me that...as Dragonborn, I must get stronger for what ever I was born on this planet to do."
Doug crossed his arms. That definitely sounded like her self-confidence taken a swing to. She rolled herself over and slouched with her legs open wide, re-pouring another drink, mead this time and taking yet another full fledged swig.
"The dilemma is...am I doing it right? I have been given a gift and I have being pandering to it and yet I still feel that hunger...that desire."
Power, he assumed. For all the dragon slaying and the big woman talk, her drunkenness was expressing her soft side.
"I no longer have the Jarls full support for the safety of his hold and wants me to bring this, Portalborn woman to save it, since you told him of allll the wonderful things she done."
Oh dear. She had one too many.
"This...science...has taken over the entire hold over. They no longer vouch for such magics, but instead marvel over your creations and even Farengar has taken study to your arts. And I have sacrificed everything to make sure that it's protected. And even then...no one cares..."
He wasn't even aware that this was happening. He could take her words with a grain of truth, but...
"Science is safer! I saw that with that the Silver-Hand. You know why they do that instead of magic? Because they can control it!"
Wait, she had it all wrong.
"If you took one second, or at least...took the time to look around you. These people were struggling yes, but they were mostly content with their lives. When you work hard, you can earn that hard work back. But now you've singed them with your creations. They've grown lazy and dependent. No...we...I..."
He hated seeing her like this. He sat on the chair next to her and grabbed her hand and her glass placing it gently on the table, then still keeping his fingers wrapped around hers. Her eyes were hazy and desperate, distant and sad. Her breath rate increased, with the occasional whimper alongside tears down her cheeks.
He understood now. That she needed people to believe in her in order to make things okay, to feel like she was wanted. The connection she felt with Wheatley. It was very similar. Except this was fast becoming a therapy session with a dislodged teenager. A sprinkle of realization was overrun by his genuine concern for her. He knew something wasn't right and somehow inebriation was key to reel in the inner core. That and a severe lack of rest on her part. This was getting worse. A sickness that was wrecking her, tearing her apart.
"DB..." He said, suddenly using Wheatley's nickname for her. "Go to bed. Sleep."
She shook her head and growled. "NO!" She yelled. "I...I can't. I won't."
At first he was wary and fearful, but in order to get it through her thick skull he had to do it. This was becoming unbearable to watch.
"Why not?" He asked her, his voice levels rising.
She sniffed. "I...just can't...the beast...oh...oh by the Gods its happening again..."
He held her hand tighter as her eyes flickered between their usual grey-green and yellow. Surely she can't be transforming now. He looked at the bottle of ale and sniffed it. It smelled okay, then he saw the other bottles, which had labled with ale, wine and mead. It stunned him to see so many. There had to be at least two dozen bottles of many varieties.
She started shaking violently, grabbing a hold of the arm rest. This didn't make any sense. The transformations either had to be willing or forced. Unless...
"Did anyone visit you today?" He asked her urgently.
She bit back. "No...I bought mead from the Honningbrew Meadery earlier on. I ran out, and started drinking the ale I hadn't taken out before...erchh...this hurts...I never normally drink this crap."
Doug bit his lip and looked around. He picked up one of the bottles of mead and whiffed it. There was a familiar smell to it.
"Neurotoxin." He said upon his revelation. Shit. Had she found away to get it to her in a liquidized form? It was very likely.
She tilted her head at him, gritting her teeth in pain as they began to sharpen out, with the snout pushing outwards repeatedly. Her body was desperate to transform, But the Dragonborn was struggling to will it back to normal. She gasped in pain.
"Doug...please kill me Doug..." She cried out in desperation. It wasn't her saying that, not really. She was drunk enough to dissemble unprecedented logic and flaws on her exterior facade.
This had been their plan. Their plan. Somehow the woman he met on the balcony had to be connected. He had to know what she did in order to deserve it. But for now she was both delirious and half way towards pure madness.
"I have to know what you did." He asked. He suddenly took the bold move of grabbing her chin and attempting to get her to answer him with his eyes. She was weak, which gave him the hint of guilt afterwards but he had no other choice. He couldn't stand seeing her in pain. He got her attention at least.
"I'll go get the perfume. Just hold on.." He said. He patted his pockets and realized he'd left it at home. He leered at her with worried eyes. She took a deep breath and snapped her grip around his wrist as he attempted to flee.
"No...don't..."
He blinked.
"It's our only option...I don't want to risk it. We...don't want to risk it."
She pressed her eyes closed. "Let the Portalborn do it. She can defeat that Gods awful woman...just kill me and be done with it...surely Alduin will be happy about it."
Doug stopped. "Alduin?"
She grumbled, still shaking. "Biggest Dragon in the whole bunch. Turns out he's resurrecting the Dragons. And is destined to swallow the world whole."
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He felt her body flush in tangent against his skin.
"I'm...I'm supposed to kill him...but...he's...unkillable...I can't do it Doug...I just can't."
It was breaking his heart. This was not the Dragonborn he knew. She was fearless, brutal and relentless. Now she'd be reduced to a withering mess. On her own accord and by drink.
"People tell you all these things..." He said to her, still holding onto her chin tightly.
"Because they have faith in you..."
She winced and gasped. "All bullshit and you know it. I don't need a priest. I just have no idea what everyone expects of me. I'm told this and I'm told that. I'm sick of it...just..."
Doug lowered his head. She was continuing to put up walls and he was just breaking them down just as quickly. She put up the fierceness act pretty good, but Doug saw right through it. He just had that ability with people.
He stroked her moist cheek with his fingers repeatedly and gave a warm smile. There was something enticing about her drunken honestly. The alcohol alone had opened up blockages in herself. He knew that as much, that they tend to splurge is what ever is on their mind. It worked for some people, for others they could be talking a lot of bullcrap, but her tears were real enough for him to worry about and understand.
"There is enough room for science and magic. And the world still needs their Dragonborn, or else you wouldn't be here...right?"
He wanted to make this work for her. As much as he had made the world work around him with his inventions. Clearly she didn't like it, but...
It was then he noticed the cut on her arm. She was wearing her armor, but there was a trail of blood leaking from her left arm. He let go of her chin, took her gauntlet off and examined it. It was a straight cut, making Doug wonder if this had been a suicide attempt, fearing the worst. He healed it, with the magic making a sweet chime as it did so, removing the wound completely.
She looked at him with puzzled, wearing eyes, her lower jaw slight slacked, leaving her mouth openly slightly. Her breathing slowed down, calming down from the attempt to kill her. Or at least, get her into a raging wolf form. He had to admit that was quite clever, since a rabid werewolf would pose a threat to Whiterun and be forced to die. Gently lowering her arm down she sat there trying to regather her wasted self. He got up and grabbed a wet rag and cleaned the blood up, not needing to see the sight itself since it was actually making him sick.
It had to have been a small dosage, but enough to cause a scare. They were on to her and they knew it. He imagined that they had every single thing about the Dragonborn. Suddenly her unpredictability made a lot more sense. She had been trying to get them off her tail, pun unintended. Spontaneous adventures and random misgivings had been an act to protect herself. She must have known this was going to happen and whom ever was doing it was getting very impatient with the results.
This must have been going on for months.
The science stuff must have been a cover for it, he figured. She still managed to lie underneath all that. Or in GLaDOS case, enhance the truth...
"You can trust me." He told her. "I've trusted you this far. Isn't that how this ally business of yours works?"
She grumbled weakly under his smart ass remark. "If you must know, I murdered an old lady back in yeah you ask why I...of all people, would murder an innocent old lady?"
Why does this scenario sound familiar? He browed at her at the intriguing admission. "Why?"
She sighed. She explained on the day they were in her own original birth-town of Windhelm and heard rumors of a boy trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood to bind a contract. However, since there was no one else there the Dragonborn decided to investigate the claim on her own behalf, blatant that she was going to do the good hero deed and see to it that she just might be able to solve the problem herself.
However, that went a little too well...
The old lady, known as Grelod the Kind, had become the Orphans caretaker in the retirement of the previous one. She was told of the unspeakable acts she had committed against the defenseless orphans, even admitting that she would whip them to get them to act in line. This cut a wire in the Dragonborn herself, who was once, the Knight of Orphans when she was growing up there. This had started happening a few years after she'd left to become the fiercly independent nord she was. So she had gone to Riften and left the boys at the hot springs while she dealt with Grelod, then made a break for it.
She felt good for doing the deed itself, achieving justice in the best way she could do it. However the justice feeling only lasted those few days as she had received a letter from the Dark Brotherhood themselves. She'd convinced herself that it was nothing to worry about. But she had heard stories of the Dark Brotherhood and somehow there was a growing paranoia that bult up inside. She knew this was going to happen and that she was going to be murdered for all the wrong reasons. So she refused to sleep.
The complications with the Silver-Hand made things worse. She had been slammed in the face by something she couldn't defeat or even see. She described in great detail, the electrical spouts and the tests she was forced through. There were many Werewolves before her, each of them failing by either carelessness or just being their mindless selves. She'd gone through nicely despite being out of her mind.
"There is a distinct link between people who prefer to do things alone and their tendency to die alone. It was one of the observational testing intiatives that was, for their own sick curiosities, that was a proved hypothesis." Doug explained.
She jumped out of her chair and slammed Doug against the nearby wall. This was becoming quite the habit with buffed up women. He could do with gaining muscle actually.
"No...just...just shut up. I don't want to know it, and I don't want to hear it. You want this Chell on my team so badly? Go recruit her yourself." She whispered into his ear.
Doug remained calm, albeit his heart didn't listen to that part of his will.
"I'm just saying it would be good to have her on our side. You two cooperated greatly in the test chambers. She would have had a great result kick out of it yes but I watched you both and..."
It came to him.
"So you're more worried that she's just as stubborn and determined as you are. You don't want anyone else to be on par with your level. You're thinking she's going to surpass you in skill."
Her eyes widened, then glared at the man before letting him go.
"You're a woman who has the world on your shoulders. You simply conceive the premise you're born with a gift and suddenly you have a destiny that everyone preaches at you. People have written books and essays on the subject, stating what others have done in the past. And the Greybeards...and the so called Blades that once served the Dragonborn. They've told you nothing?"
She had her back to him, staring at the wall in utter contempt. If anything, he wasn't sure she was just going to break the wall at that moment.
"You're a smarty...you've done your silly little readings on the goings on here. You should know damn well that they've shoved soooo much useful advice in them."
He rubbed his neck again for the umpteenth time that night and approached her from behind.
"You are a good person. I've seen it. I'm sure what ever pathway you find is the correct one. The one that will give you the ever lasting freedom and attainment."
She wiped her runny her nose with her arm. "What about you...I thought your philosophy was to justify that everything could be explained through complex diagrams and all that junk."
He gave a subtle laugh. He'd shown her previous back at Winterhold the basics of science, where they did things for little to no reason, where the goal was substantial in all possible realities.
"I'm not a hero though." He said. "I have listened and I have learned the world around me just to survive because really there was no other way. My homeland has different base values and to jump right back in would be really easy for me. But as a scientist at heart, we have to find new challenges. It scares the hell out of me, for good reason. I see you don't like me forcing new values on your people. I understand that. We've had that argument for years teetering on earned destinies, rather was is laid out ahead of us."
She swayed in his direction, lazily lifting a brow. "I honestly have no idea what you just said."
He chuckled nervously. "Neither do I. I'm just saying, you can work hard enough to earn your way through life. If you honestly have the foundations of, slaying this Alduin, and have the right perspective on the events you can actually achieve that goal. You are, very, very unique and..."
She slapped her hand on his face, shutting him up.
"I get it...I get it...look, you're...you've put out the game yourself in the past yes? I'm guessing with this Chell character. She's good...there I said it. She's good. I won't admit that to her and I certainly will not approve of you telling her about it either."
Doug smiled underneath her fingers, causing her to retract her hand. "Precisely. My hunch had told me to use her for the trials ahead. And...it worked! Better than I had hoped. Though I still feel bit ashamed for, well...we all pay our dues in the end."
His heart tremored beneath him. Of course, he was the best figure for mental stability from a sarcastic standpoint. He expected a full run of hits and notches to his record. Couldn't be worse than that.
"You feel that guilt and you expect punishment along the way. I can't do that. I can't do that knowing that eventually I will get punched in the face for all I have done. Which is why I need to make the sacrifices to defend and protect the people here." She said with honor.
Sounds like an ancient nordic tradition by the sounds of it.
"You killed an old lady for being cruel to children? I'm sure no one would really object to that. I mean, of course back where I come from you would be on trial for first degree murder and sentenced to how many years long inside a small prison cell. Here...it's the values that people have placed that makes it so endearing. Justice is served in the way that it's accepted. It's horrifying and I really, really truthfully prefer the justice system we have in place. But I know I can't change that. We have have to get the cold hard evidence to prove that they're guilty. Here you stand on accusations and full eye witness reports without proper background checks and instigation."
She snuffed. "Hah...not really. You do have to have evidence to back up your claim. But when you don't, even when the offender is staring you right in the face, they can't apprehend the accused because you have bare hands. You are so dead certain that this person is guilty, or that they have committed something that doesn't even fit the standards of what that hold calls lawbreaking, you either hire thugs or, if you can afford it and if you're willing to go that far, you sic the Dark Brotherhood on your target. That way, your own personal justice is served regardless."
He lowered his head. Well, there were similarities between the worlds they came from after all. Besides the obvious.
"They couldn't find evidence connecting you to the crime. So someone stuck the Dark Brotherhood on you?" He asked.
She rubbed her head, feeling a bit woozy. "I...I dunno...it wouldn't be the first time. But."
She sighed. " Capitoline...that name strikes me...I don't know how."
"Is it someone you know?" Doug asked.
She shook her head and sat down on the couch again. "I have no clue...look...I need time to think over this. This is overwhelming...and I'm tired."
Doug nodded. "I understand."
He really did. She needlessly burdened herself with being overly heroic and now her body was paying the toll. He gave her a hand and helped on her feet once more. He put his arm around her shoulders and slowly walked her upstairs to her room. She wasn't fighting it, she wasn't being brash or acting irritant with the way he was touching her. Fatigue would do that to people. Extreme fatigue would make it worse.
She sat the edge of the bed, looking distant and batting her heavy eyelids as a tear ran down her cheek. Doug sat on the wooden chair opposing her, frame rocking back and forth. It instilled memories of Doug's own impeding times. There was no doubt that she would never show this side of her to anyone else but him. One, being hunted down by ninjas and two, holding the fate of the world in her hands screamed help needed. He offered, genuinely and not in any other hidden intention, to help get her into her night clothes, but she snapped back, taking off her other gauntlet.
"Need anything else?" He asked.
She looked at him with screeching coldness, but in all expectations was kind of needy. He got up to walk out of the room, needing her own privacy since in all realities no one really likes others seeing them getting undressed. Lines were drawn for etiquette. She forced him back down in the chair, much to his surprise. But the lines were blurry for her, not bothering the fact that Doug, a male, was sitting in her room watching her strip. He was a better man for it as he avoided eye contact briefly before acknowledging the fact.
"Um, I was just going to leave you to your own devices. I assume you do you know how to sleep."
He said jokingly, just to make her feel better in using her taunting arena.
He received a smirk, which was a bonus. He turned around, looking at the wall as she took off her armor, tapping his foot until he heard the ruffling stop. His face was beet red, his arms crossed and humming some annoying tune until he heard sit back down on the bed.
Her night gown just consisted of a thin strapped dress that dropped all the way to her ankles. Very lady like. Very unDragonbornlike. She threw herself on the bed and slammed her head into the pillow with her arms out wide.
"Yes...perfect way to sleep." He commented with a hint of snark.
She turned her head sideways and glanced at him. He rolled his eyes and forced the blanket out from underneath her, much to her dismay as she was too lazy to move on her own, then draped her underneath it. She sat up and leaned on her elbow to stare him with scrupulous eyes, her mouth gaped slightly and the other hand clinging on the edge of the bed. Just go to sleep already...
Instead she continued to stare him half-lidded. Was it that bad for her to rest? Like there was an inherent phobia related to it? Did she want him to read a bed time story? Was there something else she wanted from him? So many questions and yet, she would most likely refuse to answer with a straight head.
He became embarrassed underneath her torrential looks, like there had been grit or dirt on his face. Rubbing it all over, he confirmed there was nothing but his bushy beard covering it. It puzzled him greatly in the silence that she covered so well. The heat of the fireplace was endearing, light bouncing off but not giving all that much of detail to her solemn face. She seemed perfectly content with looking at him, Doug receiving vivid throws of attention from a confused woman.
Doug couldn't stop his hands from fidgeting. He wouldn't leave until she was resting properly and not pretending to do so. He was willing to wait, for as long as it takes, until her body lay limp on the bed. She persisted in staring at him, making it more awkward than it should have been. She tried getting up, pushing her chest and sitting a little more up right with her hand pressed down on the pillow. Doug pierced his fingers into his arms and he crossed them, then laid his palms flat on to his knees and leaned forward.
"Doug...why?" She asked, her voice strained.
He fumbled. "Um...why what?"
She bit her lip as she adjusted herself and pulled his chair forward, scaring him briefy as he was caught unaware.
"Why help me? It's not you like need to."
He shrugged. "Because, well, you are important."
She groaned. "To the bards to make decent septims. Yeah, that's it."
He rolled his eyes. "You really need to stop putting yourself down like that..."
She chuckled. "Would you prefer to hear me gloat?"
He nodded. "Well, yes. Let's us know you're still around. You have the right to gloat. Sounds like jumping in with an arrogant foot but you get the idea. Systemically, you're a gift."
She grunted. "Gift eh...what would put that in your precious scientistness words?"
He rubbed his hands together in brief thought. "Scientific Terms, I would call you a necessity, a one in a million, um...just imagine a body, a real life body. You're one of those really good white blood cells heard in medical journals that successfully fight off cancer. Elaborate enough?"
"I guess." She responded. "If I even knew what cancer was."
He nodded. "It's not pleasant."
She pouted. "I gathered."
The mood shifted, sending a shiver up Doug's spine. It was awkward keeping an eye on the woman who was supposed to closing her eyes, but instead insisted on this pointless staring contest. He sat back and kept a keen interest on her. The situation wasn't going to change and he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
She swirled her back on the bed and laid her arms out, resting her head on the pillow. Moments were spent in utter succession of another, dwelling in sweet, warm solitude. Doug found his sight wandering in the interesting cuts of shadow of her neck, scathing across the curves of her body. He placed his hands together, lacing his fingers and tapping his knuckle with his index. Any minute now and she would be off into the embrace of total relaxation, finally abiding to the biological rules of the average human.
"Doug..." She whispered, drowsy.
"Hm?" He answered, snapping out of what ever trance he was in.
She shuffled upwards again. Damn it woman, just give in. This was getting harder to bear. Either it was a psychological or a biological issue, he just wanted her to...
"Do you think I can have Wheatley for the night?"
Doug blinked and leaned in closer, really not understanding what he was hearing.
"What? Excuse me?"
She smirked. "You want me to sleep? Fine. I need someone watching my back without doing the same thing."
He lowered his head. "Uh...what about Lydia?"
"She's been catching the zs long before I have. And I have heard rumors of the Dark Brotherhood murdering people at their most vulnerable."
Out of that slurred fact, that actually made sense. He had no idea she'd grown too fearful to properly shut her lids. Why didn't he think of that before?
"DB, I'm sorry I..."
She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't worry about it. It's not like I wanted you to find out or anything."
He scratched his head. He was hoping the alcohol was wearing off, some semblance of her original mindset that could return and yell at him to get out. The tranquility and her lull guise were disturbing than he'd like. She held that tiny smile that was unlike her, so he wore it off to her inebriation.
It set butterflies in his stomach. The patch of her exposed self, the pure warmth that she was setting off that he blamed on the nearby fireplace instead. His throat clogged up with an indescribable feeling. The loose fit of her gown, the lines on her collarbones and the soft light on her skin. Her hair was a mess as usual, her face drawn and tipping the scales for her to collapse. Implode even. There was no metal to protect her squishy human flesh or any signs of her beast form. The sheer sense of her susceptible placidity enveloping him in his own misplaced portion of serene bliss.
Maybe it was the heat of the room, the alcohol in her breath and the misjudging of his coloured mind. It was setting him on a rural course of craziness just thinking about it. He should have known better about it, but this was new and unexplored, for...several years anyway, since the original line had been set back in his teenage years, with a girl he knew in school.
Out of all this mental processing, he failing to apprehend the notion that their faces had gotten closer, his consciousness had been set elsewhere and his heart rate sent toppling. A race of transcending thoughts fell out of his lips.
"We're all based in our own conduits. Where we are raised on facts and opinions. Our minds are the most complex weapon we have and that they can be used to split the two and learn that we can make up our own. Even then...our minds can lie."
The Dragonborn had adjusted herself, looking between the lower and upper parts of his face. He swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing alongside. He squinted repeatedly, like something was in his eyes.
"Is that so?" She whispered, the cordially invited precinct of her voice making his cheeks flare up.
He honestly was in a different world. Their noses touched as she felt his hot breath on her cheek, fast and shaky. Hers had the scent of her mixed emotive night with several of her bottled liquidated friends. The mead had overpowered all others the texture of sweet honey. His beard bristled against her cheek, his mind still shuffling the paper work, unable to make a a turn-around.
She didn't seem to mind the unusual way his eyes worked. His pupils were fascinating. She raised a finger to feel the slenderness of his cheekbones, and pressed her forehead against his his. He shivered underneath her touch, running up to his head and down to his toes. His head trembled as she pressed her lips against his bony faces, a quiver to his breath in response. She tendered to the untouched with the same care, a rolling wave of heat meandering throughout his splintered structure. He lowered his lids as a mild salty tear rolled down his flushed cheek.
"I don't...I don't to want risk losing you..." He muttered, throat crumbling.
"Is that why you bothered with those spoiled words of wisdom?" She whispered. "And that is the most pathetic thing I have ever heard. I'm off my face and I can clearly see you crying there. Idiot. Stop it."
His mental pathways were all jagged and sore, his brain wrought and aching. In all actualities that he never even considered, that his worries were stooped on her. Two beings from two different worlds...and he was the true faction of fragility, and yet. Her opened his lids once more and dipped into her own. She was doing it again. But there was a captivating niche about those grey-green hazy eyes. There was hurt yes, a fear yes. All there however, taking up room in the crevices and cracks was just confusion. Instability and confusion. Indecisiveness and confusion.
"It doesn't hurt to try to sort out your own capabilities. I'm just...just..."
She gave a hopeful look. "Just a scientist?"
He gave a small nod with his forehead. "Yeah. You are a person with the perfect, suitable skills appropriate. Perhaps we should make a list of pros and cons...then make a list of-"
She silenced him with forced pressure of her lips. His eyes quickly shut on the revelation of skin against skin. Wet. Very wet in both ambiance and resonance. Pushing past the unusual endeavors, he found she tasted like honey, but ultimately, he zoned in the smell of her lavender perfume. It was faint, but it was there, hidden underneath the potent chemical of alcohol. He focused on that, imagining the space around sprouting in the pristine flowers of the lavender plant, the fire resembling a sunset. This force of sent his image processors into overdrive, his hallucinations purging all remnants of sight sanities. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it, driving his nerves all over the place.
He tilted his head to allow her better access, drawing his mouth open wider to allow their tongues to caress each, testing the roughness of the dwelling surfaces. A whine crackled from his throat, a alien response to the exhibiting of the odd fervor burning in his stomach. His fingers refused to motionless under this distracting physical presentation, fingers skimming up her bicep, over her shoulder and up the curls of her neck, to her jaw, to the ear before finding their home somewhere deep in her hair. His beard tickled her nose. He felt her restraint to sneeze as a result, suddenly gaining back his composure in those frozen seconds and withdrawing from contact. His mind was lying to him again.
"I am so...so sorry..." He said, almost toppling himself over if it weren't for him grappling on to the chair.
Her eyelids were like full of lead, heavy drowsiness apparent. Her head fell sideways on to the pillow, and to his surprise, heard her grinding snores. He could still taste her on lips, licking the flavor away on his tongue. He quickly tucked her in, then slowed down to recall her words about the Dark Brotherhood.
But he couldn't access those files. Everything was entangled in the moment, her limp form now peaceful in the dim of the fire light. It took him a while until his heart beat returned to normal, tying that to his quickened breathing.
He shouldn't have done that. No. Not at all. It was inappropriate and wrong. She had a thing for Farkas and he couldn't break that. He cursed himself for making her more confused than he did before. If anything, he would bless drunk amnesia to work for his own sake more than hers, so he wouldn't be given a big thwacking. His stomach had enough of that already for one, intruding evening.